


Like Autumn Turns Leaves

by zaphodsgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fairy Castiel, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-02 13:57:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15797922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl/pseuds/zaphodsgirl
Summary: One summer night, Dean decides to teach his little brother how to catch fireflies. What he catches for himself is completely unexpected.





	Like Autumn Turns Leaves

**Author's Note:**

> A thousand thanks to [Diamond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Diamond)  
> and [superhoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney) (who also beta'd)  
> for asking me to mod this challenge with them, and to the Salt Cellar for never letting smol things die completely. 
> 
> All my love to [Busy Squirrel](bs-acorns.tumblr.com), who was gracious enough to ask if I wanted to pair up with her for this! She waited so patiently for me to finish when I sent her two-thirds of the story and then flitted off to work on my DCBB for a month. Then she did absolutely adorable art and I was floored. I was straight up undone by little fairy Cas! You should also check out Busy's comic, which you can find [HERE!](http://busysquirrelpress.com/blackorb/cover-the-black-orb-chapter-1/)  
> Please shower her with love, because artists don't get nearly enough credit for fandom works!

"Okay, Sammy," Dean says, holding out a glass mason jar with a slice of apple in the bottom. "Let's go outside. Be careful, because I had to turn off the porch light."

"Why come?'

"It's 'how come', Sammy."

"Why?" 

Dean shakes his head as he holds the door for his little brother, then follows him into their backyard. "If we leave the porch light on we won't be able to see them, and might even confuse them. You're not scared of the dark, are you?" 

"Uh uh," Sam says, violently shaking his head, clasping his jar to his chest with both hands. 

"I didn't think so." He puts a hand between Sam's shoulder blades as he guides him towards the edge of their yard, where the long grasses grow along the banks of the creek that flows behind their house. "Okay, let's sit here." He lowers himself onto the grass, crossing his legs and waiting for Sam to follow. "Now, you're going to pull out some grass and put it into your jar," he says, tearing a fistful from the ground and placing it into his own. "The apple helps keep the air nice and damp, and the grass makes it homey for them. Like a little bedroom." Sam dutifully follows his instructions, earnest and obedient even at six years old. 

He's used to following Dean's lead, often trailing after his big brother like a shadow. Their father died when Sam was still very small, and their mother found herself alone with two boys to raise and nothing left to her but a mountain of medical bills and no living husband to show for it. Mary Winchester always had a brave face on, and never complained about her lot in life when she thought her children could hear her, but Dean was a smart child and he loved his mother fiercely.

Dean had been six years old himself at the time, and though his mother never asked him to, he started to do whatever he could to help. Most of the time that meant keeping his little brother occupied, so tonight when their mother fell asleep on the couch, exhausted from a long shift, Dean thought it would be a good idea to teach him how to catch fireflies. 

"Is that enough?" Sam asks, holding his jar above his head in the darkening twilight, and Dean nods. 

"It's perfect, little man. Okay, this next part is the hardest one. I don't know if you'll be able to do it, since you're so little."

"Am not little!" Sam protests, and this exact moment is one Dean will remember fondly for the rest of his life. He doesn't know it now, but someday little Sammy will tower over him by several inches, and each time he teases his six foot tall older brother about it Dean will think about this night like it was a prophecy.

"Well if you're not little then this part should be easy. You ready?" Sam nods his head deliberately, three very pronounced jerks of his chin, and Dean ducks his head to hide his smile. "You remember Elmer Fudd? You remember what he was when he's hunting wabbits?"

Sam's eyes widen, and he leans forward eagerly. "Vewy, vewy quiet?"

"That's right, we have to be vewy, vewy quiet. Just whispers from now on. And we have to be vewy, vewy still. We have to wait for them come out. Keep your eye over there, on the long grass." 

Sam doesn't uncross his legs, but just wiggles his little body to the left so that he's facing the grass, while Dean turns only his head. The stream borders one side and the back of their yard, with nothing beyond it but woods, and the other side of their yard has a tall wooden fence between their house and the Harvelle's. Their house is the last on a dead end street, and there's really no noise but for the crickets. If Dean strains he can hear cars moving along the highway in the distance, but now he focuses on the sound of Sam breathing as he earnestly stares towards the creek.

Dean sees the first one, but says nothing, waiting for Sam to experience the joy of discovery for himself. It takes a few more minutes, but he hears the sharp intake of breath, and Sam smacks a hand against Dean's knee in excitement before he leans closer.

"I see them!" he hisses in excitement, and this time Dean does nothing to hide his smile. "What do I do?"

"Let's wait just a little longer. It'll be easier to catch one if there are a whole bunch. Can you wait a little more?"

This time Sam nods his head frantically, then holds himself in utter stillness for what Dean thinks is about ten minutes. Now the fireflies are spread all through the long grass and bleeding into the yard, and both brothers are mesmerized watching them signal to each other in patterns of light. Dean waits until Sam starts to fidget, unable to contain his excitement for much longer, then stands up and gestures for Sam to do the same.

"Now what?"

"Now you want to move towards them very carefully, until you're surrounded by a bunch." He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a flat metal disk poked full of holes, handing it to Sam. "You want to try and get one to just float into your jar, then put this over the top so it can't escape. You have to be really careful, so you don't hurt it. Do you think you can do that?" 

"Yes," Sam says with a solemnity that belies his tender age. 

"Go ahead. Make me proud."

"I will, Dean." He walks very slowly towards the creek, the jar in his left hand and the lid in his right, both held at chest height. Dean walks closer to the water but several feet away, wanting to give Sam space. He's content to watch as Sam makes a few attempts, doing no harm in the process, frowning each time he doesn't snag his intended target. It takes time, but he never whines in frustration or throws a tantrum, or even looks to Dean for help. In the end, he's rewarded by not one but three fireflies that he coaxes into the jar before he places the lid carefully on the top. He twirls to grin at Dean, holding the jar as high as he can, and Dean can't help but laugh lowly.

"Good job, buddy! Now, go back to the house very carefully, and get that metal ring that I left on the kitchen counter. It's the piece that screws onto the jar to hold the lid in place. Do you think you can do that all by yourself?"

"Yes, Dean!" He turns towards the house and starts taking very large steps, trying to hasten his approach towards the kitchen without running, and Dean watches until he sees him get inside. He thinks he'll catch a few fireflies in his own jar, and then Sam will have two to look at as they go to sleep tonight. 

He turns towards the stream again and walks a little closer to the edge, holding up his jar, letting his eyes drift over the tiny bugs. Suddenly one in particular catches his eye, larger than the others, and glowing faintly blue instead of yellow. He takes very slow steps towards where it hovers, then just as slowly raises the jar and the lid together before he moves swiftly to catch the firefly inside. 

Unlike any others he's caught in the past, this one reacts to being encapsulated. It flits back and forth within the space, fluttering as though it's in a panic, and Dean brings the jar up in front of his face to peer at the bug inside.

Except it doesn't look like any kind of bug he's ever seen before. In fact, as he squints his eyes and brings it the glass so close that it touches his nose, it's actually a tiny, tiny person. With _wings_. 

*******

Dean enters the house to find Sam sitting at the kitchen table in the dark, staring in fascination at his firefly jar. He looks up as Dean comes in empty-handed, but he doesn't comment on it. Having caught his own fireflies, he seems to have forgotten that Dean planned to catch any of his own. 

"I put the other piece on just like you told me," he says proudly, and Dean pats him on the head. 

"That’s great, buddy. Can you take your jar upstairs with you and get ready for bed without me?"

"Will you read to me _and_ the fireflies tonight, Dean?" 

"I sure will. Pick out what you want to hear and I'll be up soon."

Sam slides out of the chair and carefully picks up the jar with both hands, holding it before him as he walks out of the kitchen. As soon as Dean hears his footsteps on the stairs, he ducks back outside and grabs the jar with the little bug man. He grabs the metal ring for the lid and screws it onto the top, trying to jostle the contents as little as possible, then leaves the kitchen. He goes into the living room, where his mother is still asleep on the couch as the flickering light of the television plays across her face. Clutching the jar in the crook of his left elbow, he leans over to gently shake her awake. 

"Mom," he whispers. "You should go to bed. You'll hurt your back if you sleep here all night."

Her eyes flutter and she turns her head, blinking herself awake. "Oh, Dean, I'm sorry sweetie."

"It's okay, mom."

"What time is it?" 

"It's after nine."

"Oh, I should put your brother to bed."

"It's fine. He's putting on his pajamas now and I'm going to go read to him. You just take yourself to bed, mom."

Mary rubs her eyes, then smiles softly up at him.

"You're my treasure, you know that right?" 

"I know," he says, leaning down when she pulls on his sleeve to let her kiss him on the forehead before he escapes up the stairs. He stops in his own room briefly, placing the jar with the tiny creature on his nightstand. He wants to stay, wants to examine what he's found, but Sam comes first.

He enters the room to find his brother already lying in bed in the dark, the jar of fireflies on his nightstand, their weak glow doing little to penetrate the darkness. He crosses to the bed and sits on the edge. 

"Did you pick what you want to read?" he asks Sam, who finally tears his eyes away from the bugs to look at him. 

"Do you have to turn on the light if we read?" he asks in a whisper, and Dean nods. "I don't want them to be scared, so I'd rather leave the light off and just look at them as I go to sleep. Is that okay?" 

"Sure, buddy, whatever you want. Did you brush your teeth?" 

Sam nods, then turns on his side to gaze at his new prize as Dean gets up and tucks the covers around him before he leaves the room, pulling the door closed but for an inch. He hears his mother coming up the stairs as he goes back into his own room, finally alone with his strange discovery. He kicks off his shoes and carefully takes the jar in hand, going to sit on the floor in the darkest corner of the room and holding it up to his face. 

Inside, the tiny little figure sits on the browning apple slice, arms curled around its bent legs and face hidden in its knees. It's got a mop of dark hair, and wearing something that looks like shorts to cover the lower half of its torso, though he can't tell what they're made of. It looks just like a miniature person except for one noticeable difference: small, translucent wings protrude from its back, larger than the figure itself is. The blue glow is coming from the wings themselves, which are drooping a little. The whole thing projects sadness, and Dean feels suddenly guilty. 

"Hey there," he whispers gently to the small figure. Its head pops up, and it peers at Dean with bright eyes that glow in the dark just as the wings do, though the blue in them is more concentrated. He can't discern the look on its face. "It's okay, I won't hurt you, I promise." The wings close against its back, then open again, slowly, and Dean gets the impression the creature is wondering whether he can be trusted. It lets its arms drop and stands, pushing off the apple with one foot, but is only alight for a moment before it falls back to its feet. It looks over its shoulder with a grimace, and Dean can see now that one of the wings is bent a little. 

"Oh no," he says, turning the jar so he can see it better. "Did you do that trying to escape? I'm so sorry!" The little figure’s shoulders slump, and it sits back down just as it was before, circling its arms around its knees and putting its head down. "Hey, don't be sad, little one. I'll take care of you until you can fly again. I shouldn't have trapped you. I didn't mean to. I thought you were something else." The figure doesn't move except for a little twitch of its wings, and Dean's guilt is palpable. 

"What can I do?" The little figure looks up at him again, tilting its head as it examines him through the glass. "Can you understand what I say?" he asks curiously, and after a moment the tiny person nods. Dean breathes a sigh of relief. "Look, I really am sorry. I feel really bad about this now, and I'm going to make it all better, okay? Can you tell me what you need?" It opens its mouth, but the little chirping sounds that come out are unintelligible to Dean through the glass. 

"Hang on, okay? I'm gonna get you out of there but I promise I'll be real careful." He carefully holds the jar in one hand, twisting off the metal ring, then popping off the sealing disk. "I'm going to turn the jar sideways now, and you can walk out into my hand." The little one stands up and nods, bracing himself and moving accordingly as Dean slowly moves the container ninety degrees and cups his hand in front of the opening. It walks to the lip of the jar, crouching with its hands cupping the edge, studying the palm of Dean's hand like it's judging whether or not it's safe. Dean holds his breath as the tiny figure turns to stare into his face, then makes a decision. It stands up and places one foot, then another, into Dean's hand and turns to face him. 

“My name is Dean.”

"Hello, Dean," it says in a high pitched chirp. "I am Castiel."

"Castiel," Dean repeats. "You look like a miniature boy. What are you?"

“I am a properly sized boy among the other fairies,” Castiel says, tilting his head to look at Dean curiously.

"I thought you were a firefly. I was teaching my little brother to catch them."

Castiel looks over his shoulder again, frowning at his damaged wing. "I injured myself in my panic. I have never seen the like of your invisible prison."

"Well, you wouldn't have been in there if I hadn't captured you. Will it heal?"

"In a few days’ time, yes. I will have to be exceedingly careful not to run into any others of my kind until it does. They frown upon weakness." He looks down, shuffling his feet. "They seek any reason to shun me as it is."

"Why would they do that?" Dean says curiously. Castiel shakes his head, clasping his hands together. "Sorry. None of my business. You can stay here if you want? Until you're better. I promise I won't confine you in the jar again, and I'll help however I can." 

"I would like that, Dean, with many thanks!" Castiel chirps, and Dean smiles. Later that night, as his mother and brother sleep, he sneaks back outside to collect a few things. And that's how Dean Winchester comes to spend the night with a tipped over mason jar filled with moss, a bottle cap full of cream, and a tiny fairy named Castiel decorating his nightstand for the very first time.

*******

Over the next few days, Dean learns everything he can about Castiel while his wing heals, but carefully conceals his existence from the rest of the house. He knows Sammy would be fascinated by the idea that fairies are actually real, and he thinks his mother would be, too, honestly, but it's been a long time since Dean has had anything just for himself. It feels like a miniature miracle, and he can't help the selfish desire to be the only one who knows.

"Won't any of your family wonder where you are and come to find you?" he asks Castiel the second day, lying on his stomach on the bed. He's placed the jar where his pillow would normally go, the opening facing him, as Castiel sits on a piece of moss at the edge while they talk.

"No," Castiel chirps sadly. "They do not much care for me." He glances at his injured wing, which looks less banged up today. "They say I am full of folly. Mayhap they are right, or else I would not have found myself in this situation."

"It could have happened to anyone."

"That is doubtful. None of them would have put themselves in a situation to be caught as I did. They are very careful to stay hidden, to keep to the forgotten places."

"Why don't you?" 

Castiel looks as though he won't answer for a moment, and then seems to throw caution to the wind. "Because it is boring!" He looks about, as though to make sure no one else can hear him, and Dean grins a little bit. "Nothing of interest ever happens there. Fairies have been doing the same thing for millennia, and I feel...I feel suffocated sometimes. I like to explore, to go out and see things! There are so many things to see!" He looks a little dejected then, pulling his knees up and resting his chin on them. "I worry that perhaps I am very bad at being a fairy. They all say so. They say I act like a human, that I’m an aberration." 

"I suppose we _are_ terrible," Dean says thoughtfully. "You got too close to me and I trapped you in a jar."

"Oh, but Dean, you did not mean to," Castiel says quickly. "I think I was very lucky to be caught by you, and not another human. Another human would not be so kind to me." He shudders. "I may be pinned to a board right now, like a helpless insect." 

"What were you doing there, anyway?"

It's hard to tell, because he's so small, but it looks like Castiel blushes a little. "I like to watch the fireflies, too. The way they interact with one another, the way they light up the night with their patterns of communication. It is so peaceful, watching them dance. Sometimes I think I would have liked to be a firefly instead." He looks embarrassed at the admission, and Dean reaches out to carefully poke him with a finger.

"I'm glad you're not a firefly."

Castiel's smile makes him seem a thousand times bigger.

It takes another two days before his wing heals enough for him to fly again, and since Dean doesn't think he can feign being sick any longer it's probably for the best. He knows it's time for Castiel to leave and go home to his family, but it makes him sad. He wants so much for him to stay. 

"Will you be alright?" he asks sadly, as Castiel hovers in the open window, wings fluttering furiously. 

"Yes, Dean, I think so." His wings slow, and he alights delicately on the windowsill. "I shall miss you."

"I'll miss you, too, Cas. Very much. Will I...will I ever see you again?"

Castiel tilts his head curiously, studying Dean, and his eyes glow brighter. "Do you wish to?"

"Yeah, of course." 

"Then I shall come and visit you at this time every year."

"How will you know when it's right time?" he asks curiously.

"The stars will tell me," Castiel says, as if it's obvious.

"Promise you'll come?"

Castiel nods solemnly. "I promise, Dean Winchester."

His wings, fully healed now, beat against the warm night air. Their flickering blue light illuminates Castiel's tiny form as he moves into the night, looking like a ball of light, then a small speck, then a pinprick until Dean can no longer see anything but the path of fireflies, signaling to each other in the grasses. 

*******

The next year Dean takes the time to wander into the woods and find some nice green moss, then puts it into a small, shallow dish that he finds in one of the bottom kitchen cabinets. It's a glossy white ceramic, with a design of brown flowers on the bottom, and Dean doesn't think he's ever seen it used for anything so he doesn't feel guilty about stealing it for his bedroom. He adds some other things, like a sturdy twig and some long grasses, and places those on top of the moss. He puts the whole thing on his dresser, then washes out a bottlecap and makes sure they have cream in the fridge. 

He starts searching through the kitchen junk drawers. There's an old potholder, grown too thin over time to be of much use, forgotten about underneath a bunch of odds and ends. He also finds a packet of silica gel, the thing you might find when you open a bottle of vitamins, but which seems to be squishy enough and just the right size to be a pillow. He takes these up to his room as well and adds them to the dish, placing everything on his nightstand. 

That evening Castiel is delighted to see the little guest quarters Dean has made for him, his eyes and wings aglow with pleasure. 

The following year, he stays a little longer. The next year, longer still. And so it goes, year after year, and by some miracle Dean manages to keep his fairy visitor a secret even from his exceptionally inquisitive little brother. Dean learns all about fairy culture, and is surprised to find out that Castiel is nearly two hundred years old, and won't be considered an adult until then. Castiel is shocked by how short the lifespan of a human is in comparison, and that Dean will come of age when he's eighteen. 

"I don't know what I want to do with my life after high school. There's a lot of pressure to figure things out by then." 

"I think you should do what makes you happiest, Dean," says Castiel from his perch on Dean's nightstand. 

"Yeah?" Dean says. "Everybody else keeps telling me that if I don't go to college I'll regret it."

"I think you're the best person to know what brings you joy."

"Having you here does that," he blurts out before he can stop himself, glad that it's too dark in the room for Castiel to see his blush. Even so, Castiel looks at him so intently that for a moment Dean can't breathe. It's silly, he knows, to have a crush on a fairy. It will probably pass, the way it did with Lisa and then with Michael, but he still wants to know what Castiel thinks.

"I am happy to bring you joy with my presence," he finally says. "I am sorry I cannot do more than that." Dean nods, then turns away so Castiel can't see the rejection that must be clear on his face. It's no more than he expected. What could ever come of it anyway? It's not like they can make out. 

He's embarrassed enough that he spends a lot of time in woodshop during his senior year making a present for Castiel: a small wooden house with a removable roof, so Dean can fill it with fresh moss and plants each year. He's even managed to fashion a little bed for him to sleep in with a little mattress made of foam, and the squeak of delight Castiel makes when he sees it warms Dean from the inside. 

The years go by. Sam graduates high school with honors, and gets a full scholarship to Stanford University. Four years later, when he decides to stay at Stanford for law school, Mary makes the decision to follow him there. She signs the house over to Dean, and so the summer of his twenty-seventh year, Castiel finds him living alone.

"Will you take a mate now?" he asks, as he perches next to Dean on the couch, sitting up high on one of the throw pillows as they watch television. Dean shifts uncomfortably. He's tried dating over the years, but he never seems to mesh with anyone, and it usually ends up as a source of sexual release more than anything else. The truth of the matter is there's only one person he wants, and they're sitting next to him. 

"You make it sound so easy," he says glumly. 

"Will your family not choose for you?" Castiel asks curiously, tilting his head. His wings flutter slightly, a sign of nervousness, one of several little things Dean has learned about him over these many years. He makes a guess, because he wants to know as much as he wants to change the subject.

"Is that how fairies get mated?" It's a topic he's never known how to broach. As a child it never occurred to him to ask, as a lovestruck teen he pretended not to think about it. Now he's an adult who has long since accepted that his crush grew roots, roots that took hold in his heart while its limbs branched out into all the cavities of his being, branches pulsing with daydreams and fantasies that will never blossom. He's an adult who knows that no matter the answer to his question, the tree will always be barren.

Castiel's wings droop along the slope of his back as he leans forward to hug his knees. "Yes. I come of age in a few days, and my clan will tell me who they have chosen for me." His wings flutter before falling against his back again, the pose one of resigned dejection. 

"What if you don't like them?"

Castiel shrugs as if he doesn't care, but Dean can tell that he does. "I probably won't know that until after we are mated and I get to know them better. It's possible I will like them very much but..." he trails off, and his wings twitch once, a twitch of resignation. "I am not very hopeful that they will like me."

"Cas," Dean says in a whisper. "Don't you have any choice?"

"What choice could I make?" he says dully. "I would be shunned by my clan if I refuse. Where would I go?"

"Here, of course! You can stay here, with me." 

Castiel looks at him, staring, and Dean marvels at how such a small gaze can be so piercing. 

"Dean," he says slowly. "You are a human. And eventually you will die, as all humans do. What will become of me then, when you are gone?" Dean feels his heart clench at the thought of Castiel, forsaken by his people, left alone for a span of centuries. 

"I wish you could make your own choice," is all he can think to say. 

They don't speak much for the rest of the evening, the air between them tense in a way it never was before.

In the morning, Castiel is gone. 

*******

Days pass, and every evening Dean stares at the wooden house on his nightstand. He hasn't been able to bring himself to empty it, and the plants inside are as wilted as he feels. He's halfway up the stairs one evening when there's a knock at the back door, and he pauses in the act of lifting a heavy foot from the stair below him. The knock comes again, louder this time, and he trudges back down and make his way towards the kitchen. Another flurry of knocks come just as he reaches the door, and he flings it open, so impatient to address the intruder he doesn't even peek through the curtains to see who it is.

A man with a shock of dark hair and a well muscled torso stands there in nothing but a pair of shorts. In the early evening sun his eyes are so blue they seem to glow. 

"I could not reach the window to get in as I used to," Castiel says.

"What...how..."

"You made a wish," Castiel says, his eyes wide with excitement. "You wished I could make my own choice. So I granted your wish, and then I chose you." Dean takes a step through the door to pull him into a fierce hug, squeezing him tight. Castiel's arms return the embrace. "I chose to be human. To be with you."

Dean pulls away just far enough to press a kiss against his lips, then cradles his face in both hands, resting their foreheads together. 

Castiel smiles, his own hands grasping Dean at the wrists, then leans in to press another soft kiss against his lips. 

Dean smiles, then backs away and takes Castiel by the hand. 

"Welcome home."


End file.
